Casablanca
by Hollywood Phoenix
Summary: *NEW* Based loosely on the classic movie and starring our fave vampire and seer.
1. Message

February 22, 2003  
  
Hi everyone,  
  
I posted this on Stranger Things a while ago but it's been lost in the annals somewhere since it was last July. In any case, here's my 'what if' take on last season's May cliffhanger finale. I think I also promised to finish it soon, but like everything else I let slide the last half year, it's stopped at a doozy of a story cliffhanger. I'll finish it eventually.  
  
Read at your own risk! :)  
  
HP 


	2. Part I

Disclaimers: Angel belongs to the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. As this story is based on the classic movie 'Casablanca', I'll write a disclaimer that it doesn't belong to me either, but to the WB.  
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.  
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Part I  
A.  
It was a warm and rainy May day on the streets of Paris, France. The sky was muted grayish blue and the floral gardens were alight with reds and yellows, purples and pinks. The rain, which in most places would have been unwelcome, provided a lovely breeze from the general direction of these gardens. This added a gentle succulent smell, sweetly suggestive of bittersweet yesteryears. For this time of year, the paved streets were not too crowded, lightly speckled with lovers and artists alike dreaming of a better tomorrow.   
  
No one was lonely here.   
  
By contrast, a certain cobblestone street just around the corner of the Eiffel Tower and plethora of street-side cafés was empty on this day. And where did this street lead to? A nightclub called Casablanca.   
  
Inside this nightclub, it was fairly bustling. The piano player, an old soul with a youthful appearance, was churning out wonderfully outdated classics while a beautiful lounge singer adorned in a silver cocktail dress provided the sopranic vocals. Most of the nightclub patrons who had already come in were either laughing jovially with one another, mingling and exchanging stories of various exploits or grumbling to their mates beside them about an uncertain future.   
  
There was, however, one who had been fluttering about alone all day and likely for the rest of the night. It was a tall, green fellow with red horns and eyes, clad entirely in white. He was the bartender and owner of the place, as well as occasional host and singer. Yet, first and foremost, he was a self-professed psycho-analyst. After all, he had the gift of reading people's auras.   
  
As well as demons.   
  
"What's egging you on, Bertram?" the bartender asked a large, brown demon, not particularly pleasant looking, as he dried a crystal glass.   
  
"Same as always, Lorne," the brown demon replied. "That war that's been brewing in America. It's moving to this side of the world too."   
  
"Hate to break it to you, Bertie-boy," the Host, as the bartender liked to refer himself sometimes, shrugged. "Has been for some time now."   
  
"Well, I don't like it." Bertram grumbled, shifting on his stool. "That damn Resistance building forces, moving in from both the East and West now."   
  
"What's to like? At least we're safe for the time being."   
  
The large demon shook his head dejectedly. "It's a mistake thinking that. Just the other day, they found Willy."   
  
The green bartender paused. "Geez, I heard about them finding his remains," he said, putting the glass he was drying down. "What happened?   
  
The brown demon leaned forward. "Word is it that he was selling information to the Destroyer. Only, he asked for too much or something." Bertram stopped, glanced around nervously and then whispered, "They tortured him to get what he knew and then threw him into one of those demon camps."   
  
Lorne clucked his tongue. "These are tough times. We're going to get cleaned out pretty soon." Leaning against the counter, he sighed resignedly. "Just when I was getting fond of the place."   
  
Bertram shook his head again. "Well, we can't run, they've got their spies everywhere just waiting for us to make a move. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves again, like last time."   
  
Lorne regarded him thoughtfully. "A mass demon exodus is bound to raise some eyebrows in the human community. But that was an ambush, if I ever heard of one. That's why we've got courtesy bodyguards now." He nodded towards two human guards flanked close to the exits.   
  
Bertram snarled, the first sign of violence from him that night. "They're all over my favorite spots. What are they there for?"   
  
"Supposedly, our protection." Lorne answered with a hint of irony in his tone. "My theory is that they want to keep us in check. At least they don't like the Resistance anymore than we do."   
  
"It doesn't make me any less nervous." Bertram pounded his fist on the bar counter. "That Destroyer is real persuasive, though. Reckon those humans will be joining them sooner or later. Then, it's all up for our kind."   
  
Lorne squinted his eyes at Bertram. "How do you figure?"   
  
"Look at all those young 'uns joining up." Bertram pointed out. "All of those human children, brainwashed into thinking that getting rid of us demons will make their world a better place. That's what you get when you let humans run the world." the grumpy demon declared.   
  
At that last sentence, Lorne glanced at a lone figure in black, sitting just five stools away, staring morosely at the glass of Scotch in his hands. The green Host watched silently for a minute as the demon - a vampire - shook the glass, letting the ice and brown liquid in it swirl, and then took another swig.   
  
Lorne leaned back towards the now angry brown demon. "Look, maybe we better not discuss this too loudly," he told him, nodding towards the bodyguards. Bertram nodded his assent, slid off his stool and headed towards a table close to the stage.   
  
"You don't have to tiptoe around me." a low, quiet voice broke in. "Not about the Resistance."   
  
Lorne turned back to look at the solemn form, clad entirely in black leather, whose face was that of a tormented angel. "I just don't want you to keep getting reminded of all this, of your past. And all the hurt and torment that you used to brood over."   
  
The vampire looked up with hard eyes. "There's no way around that. You know me," he said grimly. "I'm always haunted by my past."   
  
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B.  
In a place not so far away, the sky was clear and bright and bonny blue even though the sun was starting to set behind a set of wonderfully green mountains. Nestled in a little knot on one of these mountains was a luxurious spa that catered only to the very rich and famous, or very important people.   
  
On this day, the spa was not very busy. In fact, there was only one customer, and it was a young woman with a large, but not overly so, mouth, and a knack for getting people to do things for her just by sending a brilliant smile in their direction. She was lying on her front, her face framed by a donut-shaped pillow, her hair and body wrapped in warm, plush white towels. Humming a little off-tune, she happily breathed in the luxuriant scent of rosebuds and steamy mist.   
  
This break had been a long time coming.   
  
At that moment, a large bluish-gray demon who looked imposing, except for a little ponch above his belt-line, appeared in one of the rooms. Looking around in bemused disapproval, he waved away the tendrils of steam all around him and made his way until he was directly in front of the lone woman.   
  
"I'd know those feet anywhere," she quipped.   
  
"Hello, Cordelia." the demon replied.   
  
"I should have known this was too good to be true." she greeted him in dismay, not moving an inch. The large demon immediately looked apologetic even though she couldn't see him. "Skip, you promised! That last case was so dreadful on my pores."   
  
"I'm truly sorry to have to drag you out of your beauty time," he told the back of her head, genuinely sounding it. "But this is PTB high priority."   
  
Cordelia pursed her lips in frustration, knowing that Skip, and more importantly, the Powers, couldn't see it. "It's always high priority with them."   
  
"It has to do with the Resistance. And a potentially pivotal murder."   
  
"Isn't murder always pivotal?" she asked rhetorically. "At least for the victim." With a tone of disinterest, she pushed on, "Well, what else? Who's the murderer? The murderee? Aren't they going to send me a vision or something, so I can help the victim?"   
  
Skip started to pace, which struck Cordelia as being very odd. Acting nervous was very unlike him. "No."   
  
"No?" she repeated.   
  
"We don't know."   
  
"The almighty Powers That Be don't know?" Her incredulous voice came out muffled as she reluctantly sat up. "This is a first. You expect me to believe that?"   
  
"The Destroyer is obviously behind the hit." Skip explained, observing Cordelia jump off her comfortable bench onto the hard tile floor. "As usual, we're still trying to determine his identity."   
  
"Same old story," she commented. "So, what am I supposed to do? Start knocking on doors asking everyone who answers if they're planning to murder someone? Or better yet, ask if they're harbouring the Destroyer."   
  
"Your mission is to look for an informant. He'll lead you to the murderer."   
  
Her shoulders drooped in frustration. "Why can't someone else take this one?" she demanded. "When do I get a break? A real one?"   
  
Skip answered her earnestly. "There's nobody else the Powers trust enough. Look, this is the one that could start the war, destroy the world."   
  
Cordelia chortled. "Oh, I see," she said glibly. "One of those." She sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. She wasn't being given any options, was she? "When do I start?"   
  
"Right away." He waited patiently for her reaction.   
  
However, she only remarked sarcastically. "Just when I was getting comfortable here."   
  
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C.  
Back in Casablanca, the atmosphere was still one of lively joviality, at least for the most part. Amidst the chatter and drinking, a man was fleeing for his life.   
  
A thin, haggard and very nervous looking demon shuffled up to the bar. Noticing the guards conversing with a man - a human - in a dark gray uniform, he scurried over to the solitary vampire hunched over another glass of Scotch.   
  
"Please, you must help me." The demon pleaded with the vampire.   
  
The vampire looked a little startled, but otherwise had no reaction. The guards were heading over towards them.   
  
The nervous demon licked his lips. "I've heard of you. Of your work in Los Angeles. You're the one they call Angel."   
  
The vampire's eyes darkened but were quickly lowered to his drink. "You heard wrong."   
  
"But I have information you'll be interested to know." When the vampire didn't respond, the thin, wrinkled demon said a little more earnestly, "Knowledge pertaining to your work. To you."   
  
The vampire swiveled away from the demon in annoyance.   
  
"Please, you're our last hope."   
  
"Alright now, you're coming with us," a voice broke in. One of the guards was standing beside them, his hand pointing a gun at the anxious demon.   
  
"No," the demon cried out desperately, his eyes darting from side-to-side as the guard came up to grab him. "Help me please!" he called back to Angel as a small scuffle ensued and the other guard came up to knock the demon out.   
  
As the guards dragged their prisoner away, Lorne sidled up to the vampire who hadn't blinked an eye during the whole incident.   
  
"When they come to get me, Angel-cakes, I hope you'll be of more help." Angel responded by downing his glass and then tipping it towards the bartender.   
  
"What do you think of this Savior they keep talking about?" Lorne asked casually as he filled another glass for him. "Heard he single-handedly saved that train-load of demons fleeing to Germany and at the same time took down a third of the Destroyer's army. Was a real blow to the Resistance."   
  
Angel smiled faintly, a look that seemed like admiration flashing across his face.   
  
"This is the first time I have ever seen you so impressed," Lorne remarked.   
  
"Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the demon population," Angel replied.   
  
"Wouldn't it be something? Knowing who this mystery good Samaritan is? Maybe even fighting against the dark forces again?" Lorne said excitedly, punching Angel's arm.   
  
Angel glanced at the arm, then looked away. "Those days are over."   
  
"Come on," Lorne chided, "Aren't you curious to find out who he is?"   
  
He shrugged to himself when Angel didn't respond again and started to wipe the counter in front of him. A smile spread wide across the Host's face as a beautiful exotic-looking gold demon sauntered up.   
  
"Hello there, sweetheart." Lorne called out to her appreciatively.   
  
Ignoring the Host, the golden vixen made her way to Angel and lightly brushed his shoulder. "How are you, sugar?"   
  
The vampire appeared to be lost in his thoughts, as he didn't even glance her way. She tried a different approach. "Night in and night out, you come in here. How long has it been since you first arrived in France? A week? A month? No, it seems much longer." She leaned towards the vampire seductively, "No one should be alone in Paris for too long. Being the most romantic city and all. How about I see you tonight?"   
  
Angel turned to her then. She licked her lips lasviciously in anticipation. "I never plan that far ahead," he told her.   
  
"Why not set a new precedent?" she tempted him. "With me?"   
  
Angel checked her over in his customarily discreet manner, noticing the barely-there strips of material strategically covering tiny areas of her body and her thick blonde mane. "I'm not interested," he said simply and focused on his drink again. No, his days of taking women who threw themselves at him were long gone.   
  
The demon stared at the vampire for a minute, her eyes wide and furious. "So, it's true," she said bitterly. "I should have believed all that talk. Nothing good comes out of falling for you." With a huff, she wheeled around and left.   
  
Angel smirked into his glass, "Is that why I'm here."   
  
Lorne shook his head in dismay at him. Across the room, the auburn-haired lounge singer in the cocktail dress started to croon a favorite Parisien love song, 'La Vie En Rose.'   
  
"How extravagent you are, throwing away she-demons like that." Lorne smirked at Angel. "You think I should call her? Get her on the rebound, eh?"   
  
"When it comes to women, you are a true democrat." Angel shot back, his eyes slightly glazed.   
  
"Share and share alike." Lorne cackled. "How about you put in a good word to her for me, on my behalf?" Lorne prodded. "If she'll still listen to you, that is."   
  
"I don't stick my neck out for anybody." Angel answered quietly.   
  
Lorne watched him with sharp red eyes. "As our unfortunate jailbird friend found out tonight." The green bartender cocked his head to one side as he observed him more carefully. "You used to. Under that cynical shell, you're at heart a sentimentalist."   
  
"And look where it got me." Angel said with a short laugh.   
  
"Alone with your alcohol and broody thoughts," Lorne remarked mildly. "That is a lethal combination... for the demon in you."   
  
"At least I'm still going on."   
  
Lorne seemed to consider this. "Perhaps you're right. A wise decision then, for whatever is left in here." He tapped his chest. "But in these times, solitude is no longer practical policy."   
  
Angel snorted before taking another drink from his glass. "I no longer care for practical."   
  
The Host stared at the vampire with something like pity, as the singer's voice floated from the stage, "Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be la vie en rose."   
  
"Life through rose-coloured glasses," Angel mumbled. "What's so great about that?"   
  
"Give me a gin." a strong, but sweet female voice suddenly said to a waiter at the far end. "Or maybe a long island iced tea." It paused, then continued, sounding a little confused. "It's been so long, I don't even know what I want."   
  
He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere.   
  
Angel froze, his mind grasping for clarity, as if just waken from a fog. In the background, he heard the singer croon, "I thought that love was just a word they sang about in songs I heard."   
  
"It can't be," he whispered, not daring to look towards the source of the voice.   
  
"Of all the joints in all the towns in this world, she picks mine." Lorne said in a hushed voice.   
  
Angel turned his head towards the far end, and in that very instant, the woman with the sweet voice looked up at him. Across the shiny counter, their eyes met. Utter shock immediately registered on both faces.   
  
For a long moment, neither of them said anything as they just stared at each other. Angel took in everything about her in that instant, from the silky hair that was now chestnut brown and shoulder-length again, to the eyes that looked a little more weary than the last time he'd seen her, as if she'd seen a few more horrific things, maybe too many. He also noticed that she was gowned entirely in white.   
  
But that wonderful mouth of hers was still exactly the same.   
  
And regardless, she was as beautiful as ever.   
  
She recovered first and slid off her seat to approach him.   
  
"Hello, Angel." she said, offering a tiny smile.   
  
"Hello, Cordelia." he replied back, but his mouth was still set in a grim line. Truth be known, he was suddenly feeling numb and extremely warm at the same time. A million thoughts and questions whirled in his head.   
  
Lorne watched them, recognizing an awkward pause as they just stared at each other again. Realizing that this was as far as their conversation would go, at least without any help, he decided to take action. "Princess, you're still the most gorgeous babe in this dimension and beyond."   
  
A wide smile graced Cordelia's lips. It lit up her face, making her look like a radiant teenager again. "Hello, Lorne. How've you been?"   
  
"Oh, good, good. Just peachy." the Host responded enthusiastically. "Look at my new place."   
  
She smiled fondly. "It's great, Lorne. Right up there with Caritas. Speaking of which, I noticed the name change."   
  
"Yes, well, figured I'd use a new name for the place." the green demon shrugged. "Picked it out myself. I've always been a sucker for a good romance," he said meaningfully.   
  
Cordelia didn't let on that she had noticed. "I guess the change was inevitable. But there were a lot of memories." She paused then, and turned back to the vampire, whose eyes had been on her during the entire conversation. "How are you, Angel?" she asked tentatively.   
  
"Getting on," he replied tightly. The numbness was starting to fade away. Only now, he was becoming aware of a feeling more unpleasant.   
  
Lorne nodded his head in approval at his work and signalled towards the waiter at the far end. When the waiter came up, he whispered something into his ear. After the waiter shuffled away towards the piano player, he shifted down a bit to prepare a special drink, pretending not to be paying attention to the ongoing conversation.   
  
"Of all places, seeing you here." Cordelia was saying.   
  
"Fate certainly works in mysterious ways." Angel responded cryptically.   
  
They fell silent again.   
  
Lorne jumped in again. "How's this for fate." He gracefully placed a martini glass filled with a pink mixture in front of the former Seer. "On the house for old times sake. You know, to remind you of all those magazines you used to like flipping through."   
  
"And still do. Nothing beats Cosmo." She shone him a grateful smile.   
  
Suddenly, the piano player changed tune and a dreamy melody filled Casablanca. Lorne's eyes lit up as he picked up a microphone hidden underneath the bar counter and began to croon.   
  
"You must remember this. A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply," the green demon's voice deepened. "... as time goes by..."   
  
"Lorne..." Angel growled warningly.   
  
"Just relax, Angel-pie. It'll be good for you." Lorne quickly said to quiet him while winking at Cordelia. She glanced at the vampire with uneasiness. "And when two lovers woo, they still say I love you. On that you can rely..."   
  
"LORNE!" Angel snarled, putting on his vampire face. Any minute, he would leap over the chrome countertop and rip him apart.   
  
Seeing the vampire glare at him menacingly, the Host stopped singing.   
  
"No need to get all bothered about it," he sniffed, but he slinked away without another word.   
  
Cordelia's eyes became worried as she took in the vampire's continual glowering.   
  
"So, what have you been up to, Angel?" she asked quietly. Soothingly.   
  
Angel aimed his glare at her for a second before he shrugged nonchalently. "Nothing much, just waiting for people who didn't want to be found."   
  
Cordelia's face stilled, her brows raised. Breathing out a bit, she casually continued. "How's the old Fang Gang? Fred, Gunn?" When he didn't answer immediately, she pushed on. "How's Wesley? You know, I haven't seen him since before I went away with Gr--, I mean, on vacation."   
  
His jaw visibly clenched. "He's in bed with Lilah."   
  
She blinked, as if wondering if she had heard correctly. "What? I don't underst--"   
  
"He's gone to the enemy."   
  
"Wesley's working for Wolfram and Hart now?" she said faintly. Her voice went up a half octave as she asked tentatively, "What about Fred and Gunn?"   
  
"I don't talk to them much anymore. Haven't for months." His eyes was on her again, hawk-like, piercing.   
  
"I'm sorry to hear that." She really did sound sorrowful. She shuffled nervously, as if getting up the nerve to ask something else.   
  
Out of the blue, he became congenial, tossing the question back at her. "Let's not talk about me. How about you? Where were you, say, eight months ago?"   
  
She hesitated, before replying, "Oh, I don't know. Getting trained by the Powers that Be to become a better hero." She let out a shaky laugh. "Learning the ways of the Force."   
  
"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
Angel leaned forward, his eyes intense and scorching. "I've been wondering who you left me for? Did you find someone better, less broody to latch on to? Another warrior from a demon dimension, perhaps?"   
  
She stood there, looking confused. He barreled forward.   
  
"One with no kids who get kidnapped and come back as homicidal, demon-hating teenagers over the course of a few weeks? Or maybe just a vampire with a bigger hotel?"   
  
Cordelia reeled back. "Angel... I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
He didn't stop. "And are you going to promise to stay with him forever or until he sees redemption, whichever comes first?"   
  
She finally smelled his breath. "I can't believe this." she said, stunned. "You're drunk."   
  
Angel laughed a little maniacally, stumbling off his stool. "This is my new profession, see. I've been investigating the benefits of drowning oneself in liquor. Today, it's Scotch on the rocks. Tomorrow, who knows?" He stuck his face into hers. "Maybe a 'Fuck Me Up'."   
  
"Stop it." Cordelia ordered coldly. "I can't speak to you like this." A chill froze the air between them.   
  
"Then don't," Angel sneered, just as coldly. "Go back to your better life. Stay the hell out of mine."   
  
Cordelia's eyes darkened while her skin started becoming more luminous. She closed her fists and eyes tightly under his watchful scrutiny. When she finally opened them, they had become gentle again, but her skin was still tinged with a tiny glow. "What happened to you? The hate that I see in your eyes... You've never been this way before. What turned you like this?" she asked softly.   
  
Angel gazed straight into her eyes, to the very core of her soul. Harshly. "You did."   
  
Snapping back, she just stood there in stunned silence, as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes became large and bright, so much so that he saw the whites around her hazel orbs, and when he saw the shiny glint appearing on her bottom lashes, he wavered. But the next instant, she had turned around and swiftly made her way towards the exit, where Lorne was joking with a group of happy patrons.   
  
"You're not staying, Princess?" Lorne called out as she neared him.   
  
"No," she said, her voice slightly unsteady and disoriented, as if in a trance. "I'm on an urgent mission. I have to look for a demon named Quincy. I've been told he's a thin, wrinkly-looking fellow."   
  
The Host gave her a mournful look. "He was taken earlier, doll. My guess is he's with the Resistance now." He saw the look on her face. "You're not going to go looking for him, are you? Those Resistance folks can be real nasty."   
  
She didn't answer his question. "Thanks, Lorne. For the drink. For everything." Without a backwards glance, she headed out the door.   
  
At the bar, the hole in Angel's chest cried out as he watched her leave. When the door closed behind her, he let out a sound barely perceptible in the din of the crowded nightclub. Only the drinks and emptiness surrounding him heard it, the wail of a fatally wounded animal desperately wishing to be put out of its misery.   
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART II @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~  
Last update: June 29, 2002 


	3. Part II

Disclaimers: Angel belongs to the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. As this story is based on the classic movie 'Casablanca', I'll write a disclaimer that it doesn't belong to me either, but to the WB.  
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.  
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Part II  
D.  
A few alleyways down from Casablanca, two guards in gray uniforms stood outside a darkened door. They stood up straight, staring directly in front of them, their hands carrying a large machine gun. Above the door was a sign that read 'The Blue Parrot' and behind the door was another saloon. Only this one was closed for the night.   
  
Beneath the saloon, in a dark, dingy cellar, was the demon, Quincy. He was seated, tied to a chair in the middle of the basement, his head slumped on his chest. As footsteps approached him from above, he peered up, revealing the multiple cuts and bruises on his face.   
  
"Please," he croaked to the shadow that was steadily moving towards him. "Don't do this. For the love of this world, have mercy."   
  
The shadow smirked. "Demon scum," she hissed, kicking him in the chest, succeeding in knocking him over. She knelt beside his prone form, her red hair falling into her face, effectively hiding it. "There's no mercy for monsters like you."   
  
With delight, she observed Quincy whimper on the ground. "You'll be out of your misery soon enough," she promised.   
  
"Then have it over with." the thin demon cried out.   
  
"Not yet." she smiled.   
  
"What are you waiting for?" the demon sobbed.   
  
"For me," a voice behind the woman said. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows.   
  
"It can't be," the red haired woman whispered in disbelief.   
  
"Oh it is." Cordelia answered pertly, beginning to glow a bright white. The next instant, the room was flooded with a bright light and then Quincy only saw darkness.   
  
When Quincy came to again, he found himself in a new place. It was warm, dry, and very comfortable. He was propped up in a wonderfully soft bed, complete with plush pillows and fuzzy blankets.   
  
"Miss, you're too kind." he said weakly, as he saw his savior come in with a glass containing a blue liquid.   
  
"It's alright," she replied with a smile. She handed him the glass and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.   
  
"Ahh..." Quincy said with a satisfied smile as he quickly drank the contents of the glass. "Real stuff. Nobody makes these earls like they used to." He looked at her and began thanking her. "How can I repay you?" he asked.   
  
Cordelia watched him carefully. "Tell me why the Resistance is after you."   
  
"I don't know what you mean." But the demon was hanging his head.   
  
Her voice became extra gentle. "If the Resistance had anything against you, they would have killed you right away," she pointed out. "They were saving you for questioning."   
  
"Miss, I don't want to get you in trouble. This is dangerous business."   
  
"Quincy," she began firmly, "I just stole a prisoner away from the Destroyer. This isn't the first time I've done it and it's not going to be the last. I'd say I'm in plenty of trouble already."   
  
She could see that she was breaking his resolve. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, "Bad times, these are. When pretty girls like you endanger themselves like this."   
  
Cordelia had to smile, even if the sentiment was a little chauvinistic and out-of-date. "So you're going to tell me what the Resistance wanted to know."   
  
He sighed. "It's about a death that will trigger the start of the war. I have information that I was hoping to share with a warrior."   
  
"I already know about the war, the devastation it could cause. Tell me," Cordelia insisted. "Who's dying? Who's doing the killing?"   
  
"A boy... very important to the Resistance. He will be committing the murder tonight, here in Paris. As to who he will kill, I cannot tell you." Quincy said. "But I can say that this will start a chain of events, one of which is the Prince of Darkness will descend on all of us, reaping mass destruction that we'll never recover from."   
  
"So, I'm back at square one." she commented, disappointed. Cordelia watched the slight demon, sensing that he wasn't revealing everything. "Is that really all you know? Or only what you want to reveal?"   
  
He hesitated. "I have told you everything you need to know."   
  
"I see," she said slowly. "You'll be safe here," she told him. "Stay as long as you like." Getting up, she headed out the door.   
  
"Miss Cordelia," Quincy called out to her as she was leaving. She turned around to face him. "You and the boy. You share an unbreakable bond."   
  
Cordelia wrinkled her forehead. "How? What bond?"   
  
"Just remember that." the demon told her. She puzzled over it for a moment before nodding and then leaving.   
  
"Maybe you should have told her more." a voice said beside the demon. Quincy looked up to see Skip hovering over him with a worried expression on his face.   
  
"So you're the one who sent her to me." Quincy replied.   
  
"I want her to be more prepared. The Powers were ready to throw her in the lion's den without any warning."   
  
"What else could I have told her? The reason why the Powers took her away from him that very day, that very minute? Even you didn't tell her the whole truth." Quincy reasoned.   
  
"Luckily, she has a streak of nobility in her. Like him." Skip remarked, a little proudly.   
  
"Not like him anymore. They've both become so different over the past year. Skip, I wonder if the Powers really know what they're doing."   
  
Skip sighed. "Between you and me, I don't think the Powers had the faintest idea how to start handling this situation. Or how to deal with them, their feelings. It's never happened before."   
  
"Are you sure? I thought for sure that Warrior and Seer from 1912 --."   
  
"No." Skip cut in curtly. "That was never substantiated." He shook his head slowly, moving his upper torso to accomplish that. "On the other hand, Cordelia and Angel were about to declare their love for one another. Besides, it's been obvious that there was something between them for months now, and I'd venture to say even years although they themselves didn't have a clue."   
  
"It's a messy business, separating two souls so attached to one another. A nice clean sever was the only way possible." Quincy looked at him closely. "You've already made up your mind on what you're going to do," he guessed. When Skip didn't respond, he stared at the exit that Cordelia had just walked through minutes ago. "I'll say one thing. I owe her a debt of gratitude tonight."   
  
"Save it." Skip advised him. His jaw set a grim line as he thought about Cordelia and the task ahead of her. "Hope to the PTB that she'll get through this and be able to collect on it after tomorrow."   
  
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E.  
It was half past midnight and the night sky was clear, full of stars. The moon shone bright, providing a pale, bluish light on the Paris sidewalks.   
  
Enclosed within one of these moonlit sidewalks was a large garden almost entirely covered in an array of damp lavender, forget-me-nots, and rosebushes. Standing peacefully on a small patch of grass was Cordelia, her feet bare, her eyes gazing upwards towards the sky.   
  
Outwardly, she was looking tranquil. Inwardly, she was anything but.   
  
Her mind began racing through her meeting with Angel that night. He had been so brusque with her, so hateful. This was something she had never expected to see from him, even though she was aware of the possibility that Angelus could resurface at a drop of a perfectly happy moment. That was the reason for all those private training sessions in the basement, after all.   
  
Wasn't it?   
  
God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.   
  
Deep down, she thought she was prepared to deal with this. 'No,' she corrected herself. 'I was prepared to handle cruel, calculating Angelus. I was getting ready for a monster.'   
  
She wasn't prepared to handle a cruel, hurtful Angel. Or a drunk one at that.   
  
'Since when did you start drinking?' she demanded in her mind. She never thought that he would ever pick up that vice. 'Is it to escape your own brooding thoughts?' That would be a first for the normally angst-ridden vampire, knowing his predeliction for self-torment. However, judging from that night's episode, he seemed to be compounding his problem.   
  
Maybe that was his reason.   
  
She wanted to brush it aside. She wanted to ignore the sting and the incredible pain in her chest when she remembered those burning eyes and words that were meant to scorch and tear at her heart. But she had to return to 'Casablanca' and talk to Lorne again, which meant that she had to deal with it again. Or at least the possibility of having to dealing with him.   
  
"I never signed up to do this." she said, looking at the moon. "I'm really needing that break now."   
  
"So you talk to the lady on the moon too... makes for great company, doesn't she, when you're all alone." She didn't hear him approach her, but she would recognize that voice anytime, anyplace. "I should have figured I'd find you here," he added. "You always did like beautiful surroundings."   
  
She looked at him coolly, as if she didn't know him. The sting of their earlier meeting still fresh in her mind.   
  
"I've been tracking you all over the city." He stepped towards her, wanting to make amends. "I'm sorry, you tried to speak to me earlier. You tried to explain everything to me."   
  
"You certainly get over being drunk quickly."   
  
Angel's expression was remorseful, but he tried to make light of their conversation despite the edge in her voice. "The secret is to get plenty of blood." he said jokingly.   
  
"Are you?" she questioned, as if expecting that he would go postal at any minute. "You seemed to be getting plenty of something else earlier." Her tone oozed with dripping disappointment.   
  
"I'm sorry you had to see that." he apologized softly.   
  
"That's a side that I never thought I'd see in you." she went on fiercely.   
  
"I know." he replied helplessly. "I never thought I'd see it either." He shuffled his feet a bit on the moist grass and peered up at her hesitantly. "I'm ready to talk. And listen."   
  
"And what if I don't want to talk about it now?" she retorted. "You made it quite clear tonight that we're not the same people we once were."   
  
"I won't deny that I've changed and you've changed. But look at our world now, Cordy. It's different too."   
  
"So now, it's back to Cordy..." Cordelia shot back. "I'll say our world is different," she remarked sadly. "I'm trying to stop a murder and you're not."   
  
"A murder," he repeated. Her heart beat more rapidly as she sensed a tiny glimmer of interest in his voice. She wondered how long it had been since he had worked a case. "It's always the same old problems... What's the point anymore?"   
  
Her heart dropped with a disappointing thud. "YOU are asking ME what the POINT IS?" What was wrong with him?   
  
"That's right." Angel said, baring his teeth slightly. "The world I fought for is dying."   
  
"And you're just letting it disappear." Cordelia stated, a cold fury in her voice. It couldn't be because of her.   
  
Could it?   
  
"Well, at least I'm not breaking my word." Angel bit back. She flinched. So, he was back to being bitter about her vow to stay with him until his shanshu. She desperately wanted to tell him that she had sincerely meant it. Still did, if only she could. "I never promised to save it."   
  
"No," she told him calmly. "You're not going to continue putting this on me."   
  
"Fine, then shall I point the finger to the son who hates me so much he believes that killing me is too good." Angel threw back bitterly.   
  
She shook her head. "Don't blame this on Connor either. This is a choice you made all by yourself."   
  
"That's right. All. By. Myself." he carefully enunciated those last three words.   
  
"Is that your excuse for a coward's choice?" she challenged him. "How could you give up everything you worked so hard for?"   
  
Angel gave her a bitter laugh. "How could you?"   
  
"I didn't." Cordelia denied. "You wouldn't know, but every minute of every day I thought about what we used to fight for. About the good that we do, saving the world and all. About us. That's why I left..." She lowered her lashes to her feet. "... and then stayed away."   
  
"And I thought you'd gotten side-tracked and run away with a rich, handsome producer."   
  
Cordelia's head snapped back. He could be a real jerk sometimes. She glared at him, knowing how heartless the vampire in him could be... when he made up his mind to be that way.   
  
"Is that supposed to be funny?" she queried furiously. "Look, I didn't come back because that was the best way for me to continue our work."   
  
He looked at her mournfully. "Why didn't you contact me?" he asked, almost pleadingly. He looked so sad, lonely, standing in the middle of those beautiful rosebushes. Untouchable because of the thorns. In spite of her anger, she felt the strings of her heart being pulled.   
  
"I wanted to," she admitted softly. "But the Powers insisted that I not talk to you or see you until... until my mission was complete."   
  
"I didn't know where you were."   
  
Such a simple statement. But what emotions it wrought.   
  
Cordelia gazed unseeingly at the mass of crimson roses, sparkling with dew from the earlier rain showers. "I wasn't allowed to check up on you." she confessed. "I considered doing it anyway behind the Powers That Be's backs but then Skip was good enough to tell me about everything that had happened between you and Connor on the bluffs... after you had escaped." She looked at him, her eyes beseeching him to understand. "He wanted to assure me that you were alright."   
  
"Well, isn't that noble of him?" Angel drawled sarcastically.   
  
Cordelia became more sombre. "Do you think of that night?" she asked. Seeing the look on his face and realizing his answer, she hastily added, "often?"   
  
"All the time." he answered, in the devastating way that only Angel could. The way that tore her heart.   
  
Cordelia closed her eyes. "You were down there for so long. Trapped, all alone."   
  
Angel's eyes became anguished as he recalled that time. "It was hard." he revealed, his voice so low he was almost whispering. "It felt like an eternity. I kept wondering what I had done to deserve that. The hate that I saw in his eyes when he ambushed me and then threw me in that box... He wanted me to live in agony forever, at the bottom of the ocean where I wouldn't have any contact with anyone or anything."   
  
She listened silently, the corners of her hazel eyes cast downwards, her heart no longer in one piece.   
  
"This cruel act was by my son's hands, from fate, whatever that is. But that wasn't the worst part," he told her, grabbing her arms suddenly. Her arms felt the permanent burn of his touch. "The worst was wondering what Steven was going to do to you. I kept thinking that you would arrive on the bluffs at any moment, and there I was, helpless... Knowing his hatred for me, for demons and the fact that he knew how much I --."   
  
"You... what?" Cordelia breathed, gazing up into the dark pools that were Angel's eyes.   
  
He froze, trying to put his feelings into words. "... cared for you." he finally said, dropping his hands from her sides and looking away.   
  
Cordelia felt the sudden coolness as his hands drew away from her. And a sudden disheartenment. "He wouldn't have found me." she told him softly.   
  
"I didn't know that at first." His voice was low. Pained.   
  
"How did you find out?"   
  
"I searched for you for months after I got out of that box." he explained. "And even after I knew that you were safe and working for the Powers That Be."   
  
Cordelia stared at him, his face like smooth marble under the moonlight. "I didn't know."   
  
"I followed every lead, every sighting of you. Hoping to find you and get even a glimpse of you again. To find out for myself that you really were alright."   
  
Cordelia didn't know what to say as she felt the two pieces of her heart wrench.   
  
"And then I found out that you left of your own free will. Wolfram & Hart took great pleasure in telling me that." he added bitterly. "But I didn't believe it until Skip confirmed it."   
  
Cordelia did a startled about-face. "Skip saw you? He never told me that."   
  
"What a surprise." Angel snorted. "I'm sure he didn't tell you a lot of things."   
  
"What about Connor?" she finally asked. Then, thinking about it, she corrected herself, "I mean, Steven. You must have looked for him, especially after what he'd done to you."   
  
"My first concern was you." he told her, observing her eyes flicker. "I thought he might go after you anyway."   
  
"But you were the one he stuck in a box," Cordelia reasoned. "He never did anything to me."   
  
"He tried to kill you before," he reminded her. "That was when you healed him."   
  
"Yes, I remember." she recalled. "I thought I took out all his hate. He must have a lot of it buried within him."   
  
"Of course he has. Remember who his parents are. Not to mention the fact that he's been brain-washed by a demon-hunter practically from birth." Angel remarked bitterly. "I was so happy to have him back, I was just so blind to who he truly was."   
  
Then again, she had been blind to his true nature too. And she had forgotten whose son he was. "Did he know that you had gotten free?"   
  
"Oh, he knew." Angel answered grimly.   
  
"But he hasn't come after you again?" Cordelia asked anxiously.   
  
"No. He's taunting me, thinking of another way to get back at me." Angel gave a short laugh as he began to pace, belying his anxiety. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."   
  
What tree was he referring to? In her mind, it was a toss-up between Darla and Holtz. And Angelus. Because she shouldn't ever forget him.   
  
Cordelia regarded Angel with heart-breaking compassion. "Did you go after him at all?"   
  
"While I was searching for you," he admitted. The pieces of her heart fluttered unexpectedly. "I followed your trail to Europe and then realized that he was here too."   
  
"He's here? On this side of the world? What has he been doing?"   
  
"He's been retracing my steps." He withdrew into himself slightly. She comprehended the look immediately.   
  
"Your steps... when you were Angelus." She watched as a flicker of pain spread on his face.   
  
"Yes." he nodded.   
  
He was blaming himself for his son's actions, as usual. She was positive of it. She teetered on the brink of indecision; she wanted to hug him so much, to assure him that everything would be alright again. But she didn't have that right anymore. "Why would he do that?" she wondered aloud. "Why follow your path here?"   
  
"I don't know. Does it matter?" he asked her listlessly.   
  
She shook her head tiredly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Then, what happened?"   
  
"I never found him." He looked out towards the empty night. "It's been a while since I stopped looking."   
  
"But if he's here --."   
  
"He's gone." He cut in tersely. "He's not my son anymore."   
  
"That's it? You don't care?" she asked incredulously. Had this new side of him poisoned his feelings that much? When he shrugged, seemingly undisturbed, she blasted him. "You can't tell me that you wouldn't even care about your own son anymore. That you don't love him."   
  
"What's love got to do with this anyway?" he chortled. "I stopped caring the minute everyone I trusted in this world walked out on me." he said, giving her a hard look.   
  
"Even me?"   
  
He just looked at her, with eyes that were now devoid of any feeling, even the previous intense hate. All she was left with was the cold night air. She gave an involuntary shudder.   
  
"I understand now." She gazed at him with eyes that were too wide and sorrowful. Stricken. "But I can't believe that you've just given up."   
  
"I gave up when I lost my Seer," he said, his gaze unfocused. "I gave up when I lost my vision." He smirked to himself as the moon shone dimly on him and her heart slowly shattered into a million little pieces. "I gave it all up when I lost you."   
  
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F.  
In the dark, dingy cellar of The Blue Parrot, a young man was picking through the rubble on the ground. There was no emotion expressed on his face as he gazed around him. He took in the scene in silence, from the guards who were sitting, dumb-founded and without any recollection of the night's previous events, to the charred rope that had been used to bind their prisoner's hands. He turned as the red-haired woman on the ground in front of him stirred.   
  
"What happened?" she asked groggily, holding her head up.   
  
"That's what I'd like to know," the man - like a boy with an angelic face - replied. "Our prisoner, the thing we captured, had a lot of answers we were looking for. What did this?"   
  
"It's all so vague now..." the titian-haired woman closed her eyes.   
  
"We have nothing again."   
  
"I failed you."   
  
"No, you failed the Destroyer." the man corrected.   
  
"We still have the secret scrolls--."   
  
"Which we can't verify," he snapped. "Wolfram & Hart is not the most reliable source. And having Wyndham-Price on their staff makes them less trust-worthy. Besides, even they cannot tell us what the Powers That Be are thinking."   
  
"If we want insider information from the Powers That Be, then we need a link to them." the woman inputted.   
  
He paced around the room, his eyes piercing through the darkness for clues. "We lost another battle today. Each one of these lost battles damages our cause. We're losing the war before we've even started it."   
  
"If I'd only been more aware. Perhaps --"   
  
"This is not the work of an amateur." The man gestured towards the two guards, still oblivious to what was going on. "Nothing would have helped you withstand a force as strong as this. This is the work of evil. A demon." He turned back towards the woman. "We don't have time to dwell on this. What do you remember?"   
  
"The last thing I recall is a bright light." The woman narrowed her eyes. "And then the prisoner was gone."   
  
"Who took the demon?" he asked, his voice tinged with a slight edge.   
  
She shook her head in confusion. "I don't-- wait, I remember..."   
  
"Yes?" he prompted her impatiently.   
  
She squinted into the darkness, as if trying to dredge up a fuzzy memory. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide, a hardened expression forming on her face.   
  
"What is it?" he questioned her, peering at her closely.   
  
"It was her," she replied.   
  
"Her." he repeated, puzzled. Suddenly comprehension dawned, "You mean...?"   
  
"Yes." the red-haired woman affirmed quietly. "She's back."   
  
"She did this?" he asked in disbelief, surveying the room. "That could only mean one thing."   
  
"This is the mistake we've been waiting for."   
  
His eyes became calculating. "Even more importantly, we can kill two birds with one stone. And if we're lucky, maybe a brand new bird will spring free."   
  
The woman smirked. "What was it you said earlier? We may have just lost a battle..."   
  
He followed her train of thought with a small smile. "But tonight, we ensure that we'll win the war," he finished.   
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART III @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~  
Last update: June 30, 2002 


	4. Part III

Disclaimers: Angel belongs to the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. As this story is based on the classic movie 'Casablanca', I'll write a disclaimer that it doesn't belong to me either, but to the WB.  
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.  
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Part III  
G.  
"Don't you dare think that you can make me feel guilty for what you've become."   
  
Angel stared at the beautiful woman who uttered those words to him. She had never been one to mince words, especially when she had a point to get across. Always a force to be reckoned with, never to be taken lightly, but rarely did she seem truly angry. Except now. Judging from the eyebrows that practically disappeared into her hair, the thin line that her lips were making, and the pale white sheen that covered her face, she was absolutely livid.   
  
Never had she been more riveting.   
  
He forced his eyes to stay drained of all feeling. This was what he wanted, to put her through the roller-coaster of emotions just so she could get a taste of what he had experienced the last twelve months. After all, he knew her so well, and he knew exactly which buttons to push to get her to do something for him, as well as how to get her upset. Despite the fact that a year had passed since they last met and that they had both changed, he still knew how to get to her.   
  
Just like she could get to him, if he let her.   
  
In the deepest, logical part of his mind, he realized it wasn't fair to her, but he couldn't let her trample all over his feelings anymore. She left him, period. She broke her vow to him, something he never would have imagined happening. He expected himself to be the one to mess things up between them, not her. So really, she no longer had a right to factor into his feelings.   
  
So where did that leave his feelings exactly?   
  
Scattered to the wind.   
  
With a horribly acrid taste in his mouth.   
  
He smirked, desperately holding onto the bitterness that defined him now. "I think I already have. You wouldn't be this angry if you didn't feel just a tiny bit responsible."   
  
"Is that why you came here to find me?" she questioned, her voice rising in tone.   
  
He didn't answer her. His mind churned furiously with turmoil. His head was telling him that he no longer felt the pain, but his chest was saying something else. Why couldn't he just numb all feeling? Why couldn't he stop every fibre in his being from screaming in her presence?   
  
At his silence, she immediately realized that she had struck a chord in him.   
  
"Or maybe it's because you still care for me after all," she said slowly. Shit. She really did know him too well.   
  
He turned away, not letting her see the barrage of emotions that would be betrayed on his face. As if mocking him, strains of a piano playing 'As Time Goes By' could be heard coming from the general direction of Casablanca.   
  
"The Powers That Be left me no choice." she began explaining earnestly. "Skip came to me as I was driving to meet you on that Point. He said the Powers That Be were giving me another test, telling me that I had another purpose, another use for my demon powers." She wrung her hands. "I'm supposed to be a champion now, just like you. If you had been faced with this choice, you would have chosen exactly the same thing. I KNOW you."   
  
"You used to." He corrected her. "Not anymore."   
  
"Apparently not." she said, her tone pained. "The Angel I know would have wondered what I had been doing all this time. The Angel I know would have found out that I've been learning to protect others, not just myself. That I've been helping other demons and witches, watchers, vampire slayers," her voice became unsteady as she stumbled over the last few words. He noted the inflection on those last two words. "...and everyone who associates with them."   
  
Angel turned back to gaze at her, desperately trying to hold onto his anger and hurt as he watched her continue, emotionally. His facade was slipping. Damn piano music.   
  
"The Angel I know would realize by now that I'm trying my best to prevent a war from starting, one that could begin an apocalypse." she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. "I guess you've made it quite clear that you're not MY Angel anymore."   
  
Angel stood helplessly for a split second, torn between staying angry and broken or melting at her feet.   
  
As a tear rolled down one porcelein cheek and she whirled around quickly to prevent him from seeing it, that carefully hardened wall around his chest crumbled. The next instant, she was wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest, his hands tangled in her hair.   
  
"Shhh..." he soothed, burying his face in her hair. "It'll be alright."   
  
"But it's not," she cried in despair, her voice muffled in his shirt. "I honestly never expected that I'd be the one to leave first. I thought I was keeping the visions for you. When Skip said I could be demonized, I thought that meant I'd be with you for the rest of my life."   
  
His mind registered what she just admitted. "The rest of your life? You were willing to be with me for that long?" he asked, stunned.   
  
"Yeah," she confessed sheepishly. "To think that I was so dense about my feelings for you. Even back then, I would have laid my life down for you, the mission, for your redemption." Her hazel eyes became tinged with regret. "All that time I never once admitted how I felt. Not to you, not to myself."   
  
Angel's brain was still reeling from her earlier confession. "Your feelings," he repeated. Comprehension was pushing through the fog in his head. He tightened his arms around her. "You wanted to know how I felt about you." He looked at her tear-stained face and tipped her chin up towards him with one hand. "We never got to discuss that, did we?"   
  
"No, we didn't." she whispered. "Every minute of every day in this past year, I've been desperately wanting to find out. Wishing that we could have had just two minutes together. Wondering if that would have changed everything."   
  
"It would have," he said, now whispering too.   
  
"Why?" she asked. He heard her heart skip a beat, and then start pounding furiously. "What would you have told me?"   
  
"That I loved you." he told her honestly. He placed her hand on his heart. "That I have been in love with you... for so long that I don't know when it started."   
  
Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. "If I'd only known," Cordelia said, burrowing her face in his chest, inhaling his earthy scent. "What I would have done differently."   
  
"As would I," Angel told her, his eyes full of regret as well.   
  
They stood there in silence under the wanton moon and surrounded by breathtaking sights and smells, so close together that they would have been mistaken for one beautiful statue. Through the calm and quiet came the crystal clear melodies of sweet songs from a bygone era.   
  
"I still have a job to do." she told him, lifting her head so that he could gaze into those wondrously hazel windows into her soul. "I have to finish this. Too much would be at stake if I didn't."   
  
"The end of the world," he growled, but it was a sad one. "Why did this have to happen to us?"   
  
"Please don't make this any harder --"   
  
"Harder?" he shook her gently in disbelief. "How can this get any harder?"   
  
"It's just bad timing." she sniffed.   
  
He kissed her eyes passionately, tasting the salt of her tears. "Cordy, you walk into my life and for so long, I never realized that you were what I've been missing for the last 250 years. When you forgave me two years ago, it was like the skies had opened up for me. Being with you is like a lovely dream that has swept over me, one that I never want to wake from." She closed her eyes to stop the tears from streaming down as she listened to his words. "It was hard enough coming to terms with losing you. Thinking that I'd driven you away somehow. Now that I know the truth, now that you're here, in MY arms, how can I just let you go? How can I let you leave, knowing that I may never see you again?"   
  
"You have to." She placed her hand on his face, stroking it tenderly. "For the chance that we might be together again, you must."   
  
She kissed him then, a sweet, chaste kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes, reveling in the memory of the exact moment.   
  
"But I don't have to let you go just yet," he told her, grasping her fingers tightly and kissing her knuckles lightly.   
  
Through her heartbreak and tears, she laughed delightedly. It was so hard to believe that she had been painfully out of reach just an hour ago. "I am going to be around for a bit," she agreed softly. "Until I solve this murder that hasn't been committed yet."   
  
There were a lot of reasons why he walked away from being a warrior, from the Powers That Be. But those reasons flew out his head when he was around Cordy. Why, he couldn't explain, but if she was going to be all heroic, he'd be damned if he wasn't all heroic for her too.   
  
Angel sighed. "I guess this means that we're on the job again."   
  
"We?"   
  
He shrugged. "I guess I could always do one last case. For old times." he said, his eyes twinkling at her, pushing the complications of an uncertain tomorrow, next week, and rest of their lives out of his brooding mind. He would deal with it then. Crooking his arm at her, he offered, "Shall we?"   
  
She gazed at him with admiration. "You never cease to amaze me."   
  
"That's my line." he told her affectionately as they followed the trail of love songs back to Casablanca.   
  
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H.  
It was the middle of the night and the young expressionless man in The Blue Parrot was waiting patiently. He was alone, having sent his guards and the red-haired woman away, and was propped up in a chair that was tipped over slightly, its back leaning precariously against the wall. Although he appeared to be dozing off, his senses were still on full alert.   
  
As was proven when a small shuffle got his attention. A small, nondescript blue demon poked his head in through the doorway. Surveying the scene before him, he peered into the dark corners of the large room. When he was satisfied that he was alone, he entered the saloon.   
  
Immediately, he found himself pinned to a wall, a knife at his throat.   
  
"I'm one of you! It's Etragu!" the demon protested, his voice high and strangled. His attacker loosened his grip on him and fell back into the shadows.   
  
"Did you complete your task?" the young man questioned him.   
  
"Yes," the demon replied smugly. "Nothing to it. Those demons are so naive."   
  
"Will she get the message?" the man cut in curtly.   
  
"Of course. That bartender has no idea who left the note. Like I said, those demons are naive."   
  
"And you're one of THEM." the man reminded the demon coldly. "Your loyalties are a little questionable."   
  
"I prefer to think that I'm one of the winners. That's who I'm one of."   
  
"Every which way the wind blows," the mysterious man sneered.   
  
The demon squinted into the darkness, his eyes getting adjusted to the poor light from the moon. He made out the features of the man. He was slight, with dark, messy hair and he noted with surprise how youthful his passive face was. It was a pensive face, private, but one that would inspire trust.   
  
Except for his eyes.   
  
They were so cold and empty.   
  
The demon shivered slightly. "You should be pleased. I did my job."   
  
"I'll be pleased when I've done mine." the man replied. He picked up a dagger from his boot and twirled it with ease.   
  
"You'll get your chance." the demon encouraged nervously. "This will be good for the Resistance."   
  
A tiny smile appeared on the young man's face.   
  
The demon swallowed hard. "About my payment --"   
  
"Yes," the man said, a gleaming flicker in his eyes. "You will be handsomely paid. But first, I want you to visit someplace. There's someone who'd very much like to meet you."   
  
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I.  
"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes?" Lorne exclaimed, noting Angel and Cordelia walking in hand-in-hand, shoulders glued to each other.   
  
Angel smiled, his whole face lighting up so much that Lorne couldn't associate this new attitude with the vampire from earlier.   
  
Cordelia beamed happily. "We're living in the moment right now," she told the bartender cautiously.   
  
"So, what'll it be?" Lorne asked.   
  
"Not for me, thanks." Angel replied, gazing at Cordelia in adoration. Lorne couldn't get over the ease with which the two of them were interacting with each other. It was as if the last year hadn't happened.   
  
And it added that romantic 'something more' to his place, he noted with satisfaction.   
  
"Me neither," Cordelia piped in. "We're on a case," she informed the Host, grinning widely. "Together."   
  
"Well, isn't that cozy." the green demon remarked, winking at Angel. He turned back to the radiant brunette. "Trust it to you to get him out of his shell."   
  
"Only for this one." Angel warned.   
  
"Sure." Lorne said knowingly, glancing at Cordelia. All of a sudden, he snapped his fingers. "There's a message for you, Princess." he said, retrieving a small, sealed envelope.   
  
"Who's it from?" Angel asked curiously.   
  
"Haven't the vaguest idea, Angel-pie. Found this on the counter addressed to her earlier after you left." Lorne answered as Cordelia opened the envelope and produced a tiny note.   
  
"We really should get to discussing new names for me." Angel commented mildly.   
  
"What, don't like pet names? Angel-sweetie?" Cordelia teased lightly, leaning into him, having read the note in her hand.   
  
"Only if they come from your lips." Angel growled tenderly, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her in closer to him.   
  
Lorne couldn't help grinning like a maniac. "Hey, hey, hey," he said in mock protest. "This is a family establishment."   
  
Cordelia snickered. "We're just livening it up a bit. Promise, we'll keep this PG-13."   
  
"Honey," Lorne leered at her, "When you're around, it couldn't possibly be rated that low."   
  
"I'm standing right here." Angel snarled good-naturedly.   
  
Lorne cackled and slapped his arm in comraderie. Angel pulled Cordelia into his arms anyway.   
  
Cordelia shook her head at HER vampire's territorial response. "This is going to be so hard now, focusing on the job," she said, nudging the vampire. "You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."   
  
"Sorry," the vampire mumbled. The last thing he wanted was to give the Powers That Be a reason to take her away again without notice before spending quality time with her. "What does the note say?"   
  
"It's for a meeting," she answered, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "There's no signature."   
  
"Where do we go?"   
  
"Not you," she said to him. "The note said to come alone."   
  
"I don't like the sound of this. Why a secret rendez-vous?" Angel asked, a hint of concern in his voice.   
  
"Oh, are you worried?" Cordelia smiled so widely that Angel couldn't help smiling just as widely back.   
  
"It's probably Skip with another lead," she told him. "We probably scared him away earlier in the gardens - he's not exactly the mushy type. And, he'd rather walk on hot coals than step foot in here to get me." She glanced at Lorne. "No offense. Can't imagine him to be the saloon-goer type either."   
  
"None taken," Lorne waved dismissively.   
  
"But you're coming back to me, right? We're going to get through this together." Angel said, still concerned.   
  
"Of course," she laughed, kissing the tip of Angel's nose affectionately. "I'll come straight back. And if I meet with any resistance whatsoever, I'll be sure to fight to the death."   
  
"I'll be waiting," he grinned, mezmerized by how sensitized his nose felt.   
  
"Sounds like all's well between you two again." Lorne remarked as he and Angel watched Cordelia float out of Casablanca. "I take it you finally kissed and made up."   
  
Angel smirked at the Host's nosiness. "Something like that."   
  
"I knew you were a sentimentalist," Lorne exclaimed triumphantly. "But I never would have taken you for a romantic. You usually botch these things up." Lorne commented slyly.   
  
A goofy grin appeared on the vampire's face. "When you've got someone like Cordelia looking at you like you're romantic, you become it."   
  
"This is priceless. I'm really happy for you." Lorne told him sincerely. "But you're not, right?" he asked cautiously. "I'm your staunchest supporter and all, but we can't forget--."   
  
Angel's grin slid off his face. "I haven't forgotten either. No, I'm not too happy," he said, his eyes troubled. "Not when I know that she'll have to leave me again."   
  
"What are you going to do?"   
  
"I don't know, Lorne" Angel told him honestly. "I just want to grab her and take her somewhere far away, just the two of us. Away from all the craziness that's around us, and most of all, away from ourselves."   
  
Lorne patted the vampire's arm in sympathy.   
  
"For now, we're taking it minute by minute." Angel declared grimly. "We'll deal with it when the time comes."   
  
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J.  
Cordelia crept through an abandoned back alleyway, the note still in her hand. Looking around furtively, she wasn't detecting any signs of life or movement. It was very dark and quiet, so much so that the only sounds heard came from her heels echoing on the pavement.   
  
"I really have to get that demon to find better meeting places," she grumbled, beginning to tiptoe around to quiet her shoes. She stopped, realizing how incredibly silly she was being. Her head held high, she defiantly tapped forward, ignoring the tingle in her fingers and toes.   
  
Nearing the back of the alley, she hopped straight up when a loud bang sounded. Stilling immediately, her eyes wide and alert, she didn't relax until only the silence surrounded her again. She let out a breath of air.   
  
"You've been in worse situations by yourself before," she told herself. "This is going to be a walk in the park."   
  
But the dark shadows lining the walls surrounding her lengthened and shortened ominously even though no one was around her. She listened intently on the sounds of her heels clicking, clicking, clicking as she hesitantly proceeded towards the shadows.   
  
A sudden screech filled the air and startled her so much, she jumped up again and let out a scream. When she saw a cat slink away into the darkness, she let out another sigh of relief and mentally berated her rattled nerves.   
  
"Trust it to Skip to find the darkest, creepiest alley," she said in her usual tone of voice, trying to assure herself. But, there was a question of doubt floating through her mind as she saw a shadow turn a corner swiftly.   
  
She couldn't hold back a jittery shake that went through her entire body.   
  
A chill began to travel up her spine.   
  
"Cordelia." She heard her name whispered.   
  
"Skip?" she asked, following the direction of the whisper. "Is that you?" As she rounded a corner, she found herself facing a brick wall. "Well, isn't this a cliché horror scene?" she laughed to herself nervously.   
  
Suddenly, she was flashed with a vision, an extraordinarily graphic one, as she saw a woman in white bleeding to death in an alleyway, a hunting knife lying not two feet away from her.   
  
She gasped in terror as she realized why it all looked so familiar.   
  
Oh god, it was a vision of HER in THIS alleyway.   
  
She turned to run then, as her ears detected a shuffle behind her. Only it was too late, she realized, as she felt something slam against her, causing her to tumble to the ground. She threw her hands up defensively, laughing inwardly as time ticked at an agonizingly slow speed.   
  
What a great irony. All this time spent wondering who the victim would be, trying to figure out who to protect.   
  
And what terrible timing. To be back with Angel, maybe not permanently, but at least for a little while. Finally in love and truly happy, only to have it ripped away so cruelly.   
  
She fought back a sob as she felt the icy, unforgiving chill of metal piercing her flesh, plunging into her chest. Her hand flew to the gaping wound as the knife was pulled out, a sickeningly moist sound coming from her body.   
  
She gazed up at her attacker and killer dazedly, and was both surprised and horrified at the youthful face staring back at her.   
  
Oh, GOD, she KNEW HIM.   
  
Those baby blue eyes now brown, that mussed up hair she had once ruffled tenderly, the beautiful, cherubic cheeks that she kissed, a little more than a year ago. She recognized it all.   
  
And the stance that reminded her of someone else she loved.   
  
"Why?" she cried to him weakly. "How could you do this?"   
  
He didn't answer as he stood over her, his grip tightly wrapped around the knife's handle. Her warm blood gushed freely out of the open wound, her life force rapidly draining from her as she stared up at the boy she never stopped loving, afraid for him and for the vampire who would never forgive.   
  
Most of all, afraid for the end of the future.   
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART IV @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~  
Last update: July 1, 2002 


	5. Part IV

Disclaimers: Angel belongs to the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. As this story is based on the classic movie 'Casablanca', I'll write a disclaimer that it doesn't belong to me either, but to the WB.  
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.  
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Part IV  
K.  
Angel stared moodily at the stage in front of him, where the piano player was entertaining Casablanca's guests. Ever since Cordelia had left for her meeting, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. He swiveled on his stool, looking into the mirror behind the bar that couldn't show his reflection, and wondered what that voice in his head was trying to tell him.   
  
"Why the look of doom and gloom?" a voice said to him, breaking into his thoughts.   
  
He turned to his left and noticed the thin, nervous-looking demon from before at his elbow.   
  
"Quincy," the demon reminded him.   
  
"Right," Angel replied, momentarily distracted from his brooding. "I'm sorry about earlier and not helping--."   
  
Quincy put up his hands. "I bear no ill will towards you. Besides," he shrugged. "There was nothing you could really do that wouldn't have made the situation worse. I shouldn't have put you in that position."   
  
"Still, I should have tried. But I see you were able to get free."   
  
"Yes," Quincy nodded with a secret smile. "I was saved."   
  
"Isn't it dangerous for you to be back?" Lorne asked, coming up from behind the bar. "The guards might want to take you away again."   
  
"Worried that there'll be trouble again? Your precious club will be fine." Quincy grinned.   
  
"Well, Quince, now that you mention it..."   
  
"Oh, I know that the Resistance will be looking for me again." Quincy cut in. "But I'm not afraid anymore," the wrinkly demon told them cheerfully. "Neither should you. Not when she's around."   
  
"Who?" Lorne asked curiously.   
  
"The Savior, of course!" Quincy answered. He stared at them witheringly. "Haven't you heard of her?"   
  
"Yes, yes. One hears of this Savior everywhere." Lorne said, stunned. "But he's a she?"   
  
"Lorne, you surprise me." Quincy shook his head in mock disappointment. "It is the twenty-first century."   
  
Angel's eyes narrowed as the realization dawned on him. "Cordy," he broke in. "She's The Savior."   
  
Quincy nodded, beaming at the expressions that flashed on the vampire's face. Shock. Admiration. Love.   
  
"Our little pumpkin," Lorne shook his head. "Kids these days... she grew up so quickly. Although, she's a damn fine woman now," he shot in quickly at the glare directed by Angel. The Host laughed with glee. "Man, do I not want to be the Destroyer. She'll kick his ass all the way to next year!" he exclaimed, punching the air.   
  
"Yeah." Angel smirked, a flash of pride popping up as he thought about her. But something else was still bothering him. If he could only put his finger on it...   
  
"That little spit-fire will put the Destroyer back in his place. But we shouldn't be talking so loudly." Quincy leaned in conspiratorially. "We don't know if his spies are around us."   
  
The tender look on Angel's face was quickly replaced with fear.   
  
"She's in danger." Angel swallowed, his eyes thin and intense. Was that what his head was trying to tell him earlier? Or was he detecting something else?   
  
"Well, the Resistance is looking to get rid of her." Lorne said matter-of-factly, understanding Angel's concern but not catching on to his fear. "She's foiled their attempts to wipe us out so many times."   
  
"Yes, she did ruin their best-laid plans." Quincy nodded enthusiastically. "And they've been trying to determine her identity for a while now. Skip was just saying that all hell will break loose when the Resistance finds out it's her."   
  
Angel's darkened eyes pinned themselves directly at the haggard demon beside him. "What did you just say?"   
  
"All hell will break loose for Miss Cordelia when --"   
  
"No," Angel practically shouted, his eyes terrifying yellow. "You talked to Skip."   
  
Quincy looked confused and terrified at the same time. "Why, yes, just now..."   
  
"Did he mention meeting Cordelia when you two parted?" The vampire's were piercing into the thin demon's sockets now.   
  
"No," Quincy replied shakily. "The Powers just summoned him."   
  
"Angel..." Lorne began when the vampire's eyes started darting frantically.   
  
"I haven't been able to shake the feeling that something bad is happening." Angel said hollowly. He took a sharp intake of breath suddenly. "I smell blood in the air. It's faint... I didn't notice it at first. But that's what's wrong." His blood ran cold as the realization dawned on him. "I smell Cordy's blood."   
  
"Oh, this can't be good." Lorne said, breaking down.   
  
Angel grabbed the Host's jacket over the counter. "What did the note say? Where did she go?"   
  
"I don't know." Lorne replied helplessly, placing his hands over his eyes. "I thought it was PTB eyes only. I didn't think to open it. This is bad. This is very bad."   
  
But he was only speaking to Quincy. When the Host finally lowered his hands again, he realized that Angel had already gone.   
  
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L.  
"I've been waiting for you to make a mistake." The voice was low and emotionless.   
  
Cordelia's liquid eyes met the eyes of the boy - young man - staring solemnly down at her.   
  
"So you've discovered who I am." Cordelia said thickly, still covering her gaping wound. It didn't stop the stain of red travelling over her dress.   
  
"The Savior." he acknowledged tonelessly. "You're the Resistance's biggest threat."   
  
"And that's your reason?" she asked sorrowfully. "My life means that little to you?"   
  
"No, your death means that much to me." he corrected her quietly. "Your life meant a lot too... at least before. You see, I've been meaning to thank you."   
  
At Cordelia's questioning look, he explained. "When you disappeared, you accomplished torturing him more than I ever could." Connor, or as he more commonly referred himself, Steven, smiled quietly. "I saw what your absence did to Angel. I know what your death will do to him."   
  
"I think you underestimate the cruelty of your own power," she replied, a breath catching in her throat as pain, not just from her wound, shot through her chest. "Your own disappearance had a large effect on him too."   
  
"I don't think so," Steven said coldly. "He was willing to kill that freak who gave birth to me because she bit you. He was ready to snuff out my existence before I was even born."   
  
"You've been doing your homework... but you can't possibly be bitter about that," she said incredulously. "Besides, he didn't kill Darla because he wanted you to live."   
  
"I think we both know that if it came down to it, he would have killed her for you, even if he had to sacrifice my life. Don't worry, I'm not bitter." Steven smiled. "I just understand his nature. He would have gone mad knowing that he wasn't able to save you in time. You know, I always wondered why you never showed up on that Point. At first I thought you had discovered what was in store for you through a vision."   
  
Something in the way he said that penetrated through the blinding pain in Cordelia's mind. "You were planning on killing me on those bluffs." she accused him with a strangled gasp. "Knowing that Angel wouldn't be able to stop you."   
  
"Yes." Steven nodded. "I knew he'd get out eventually, being the resourceful vampire that he is. I wanted him to know what it's like to lose the one person he truly loved and trusted."   
  
She pushed back the cold that was seeping through her veins. "Now that I'm back, you're finishing the job you started."   
  
"Yes," he answered thoughtfully. "And doubly advantageous now that I know who and what you really are." He knelt beside her, and suddenly kissed her.   
  
When she felt his cool lips pressed against hers, her eyes flew open in absolute shock. She gave into her first response.   
  
"Ow." he cried, the first sign of involuntary emotion from him that night. He touched his bottom lip and when he withdrew his hand, saw red on it.   
  
"What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, her tooth dripping with his blood.   
  
"Trying to take your visions," he told her. "The Resistance was hoping to be able to tap into that link of yours with the Powers That Be."   
  
"That's not how it works," she half shouted in disgust, cringing at the idea of him getting her visions. No, he wouldn't ever get them. Not even from her dead body.   
  
He shrugged. "No matter. It's not as if we can't win the war, now that you're gone."   
  
"I'm not gone yet," she told him fiercely. "Angel will find you. He won't let you get away with this."   
  
"Let him," Steven smirked. "I have other plans for him."   
  
Cordelia's eyes filled with tears when she thought of what Angel's reaction to her death would be. She knew that he would hunt her killer down and avenge her death, no matter what the cost. And regardless of who it was. Thinking of Angel was starting to become too much, as she knew that her vampire would stop at nothing to destroy Connor, even if it meant killing his own son.   
  
And it would eat him up so much that it would end up killing Angel, himself.   
  
She had to do something, get through to Connor somehow, at least while she still could. Even if it would be the last thing she did.   
  
She sat up with great effort, gripping her chest and hanging onto that last thought. "I remember you when you were still a baby," she said softly, changing tactic. "You were so innocent and trusting then."   
  
"Yes, and Angel was good, practically a Saint. He loved me so much." Steven continued in mock sorrow. He paused when he saw her close her eyes, swallow hard, and pale considerably from the immense blood loss. "Spare me the altruistic last speech; it's not going to change my mind. If I were you, I'd save your breath for better things."   
  
"He does love you," she shouted angrily, fueled by a suppressed shudder. She shoved her own growing weakness down her throat and focused sharply on the distant youth. "He'd show you how much if you just let him."   
  
"How?" Steven asked, becoming just as angry. "By killing the only father I knew?" He stood up again, wheeling around furiously. "Tell me again that he loves me that much."   
  
Cordelia looked at him in surprise, shaking her head to clear it and trying to ignore the pain beneath her hand. "You're wrong," she called after him, pleading with him to listen and believe her. "Angel told me himself that he didn't kill Holtz."   
  
"I'm not wrong!" he yelled back furiously. Thundering back to her, his fists clenched tightly, he stopped when he saw the flash of hurt on her face. Suddenly, he smirked. "What makes you so sure that he didn't lie to you? He's done it before, hasn't he?"   
  
She regarded that deceptively childlike gaze. "You HAVE been doing your homework. Following Angel's footsteps since he first became Angelus."   
  
"I don't deny it." he nodded, his anger seemingly disappated. "Why are you trying to defend him to me? From what I hear, you weren't very happy about my existence at first. I would think you'd be very happy to be rid of me finally."   
  
Cordelia recoiled in horror. "No! How could you ever think that?" Under his watchful gaze, she recognized a bit of the truth. "If there was ever a time that I wasn't thrilled with your existence, it was before you were even born. But then when I finally held you in my arms, fed you, spent time with you... I have never wished you gone, not since I've really gotten to know you."   
  
He blinked, the second sign of emotion that night. With a twist of the head, he tried to brush her remark aside. "You don't know me," he told her shortly. "And you don't know him."   
  
"That's not true, Connor." She got up, gritting her teeth at the intense pain, the smell of her own blood gushing out of her chest, bloodying the entire length of her dress. She approached him standing, where he was frozen in place, and placed a warm hand on his cool face. "I do. And despite everything that's happened, I still love you both very much."   
  
For a minute, he wavered, contemplating her words and gazing at her in open awe. His eyes betrayed a softness and tenderness that reminded Cordelia of his father. His true father. And in that instant, she saw the little boy borne of miracle and so full of love that she had been allowed to raise instead of the angry young man so consumed with hate.   
  
"It's not too late, Connor." she breathed, brushing his hair, opening her arms wide to envelope him. "We can still get past this. You just have to believe in it."   
  
But the spell was broken. "My name is STEVEN!" he roared as he raised his knife again.   
  
"No!" she cried, but it wasn't out of fear for herself. She grabbed the hand with the knife and an incandescent white glow enveloped them.   
  
He looked at her, unable to move his arm and or anything else as she whispered to him to listen. A haze filled his mind then, the sounds of slow heartbeats gently beating in his eardrums as he gazed into her wide, all-seeing eyes.   
  
He was remembering.   
  
Cordelia was sitting in a rocking chair, reading from a book in her hands. On the book's cover was a picture of a stout man with a reed pipe.   
  
She was reading to him in his crib when he was still a baby.   
  
"To his lips again laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane," she was saying. "And ere he blew three notes..." She paused and looked at him lovingly. "Such sweet soft notes as yet musician's cunning never gave the enraptured air..."   
  
Another memory flashed before him.   
  
He was in Angel's arms, being rocked gently. Other faces, friendly, loving ones appeared around him. He recognized them immediately. A man with glasses who didn't know how to act around him, a slendar woman with brown hair cooing at him gently, a tall dark man with a smirk on his face, trying to tickle him and make him laugh.   
  
And Cordelia and Angel blowing kisses at him.   
  
"Small feet were pattering," he heard Cordelia's voice continue reciting as an image of a green demon cradling him and fussing over him appeared, "Out came the children running."   
  
He was seeing himself as a baby again, sandwiched in a bed between Cordelia and Angel. She was feeding him his bottle while the vampire was planning for the future, his future.   
  
They were falling asleep together.   
  
"Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after..."   
  
His memory morphed into that of the solemn man with glasses carrying him away, far away.   
  
"The wonderful music with shouting and laughter."   
  
His father was crooning to him in his tux. Singing to him softly and sweetly. Happily dreaming of the woman he needed and loved more than life itself.   
  
"He loves you." he heard her whisper desperately as the haze lifted. She was showing him his memories, trying to make him understand again even through her own agony. Even as she collapsed, crumpling to the ground, spent and dying before his eyes.   
  
He had done this to her. She, who was not his mother. Not human.   
  
But the only mother he would ever know.   
  
The knife fell from his hand, his arm limply dropping to his side. Listening to the metal clatter to the ground, he stared at her, confused by his emotions. Confused by hers. Extremely frightened by both.   
  
His head and heart were pounding furiously. He did the first thing that made sense to him. He turned on his heel and ran.   
  
As he raced away from the almost empty alleyway, from the darkness, from her, he heard her whisper that she forgave him.   
  
And that no matter what happened, she would always love him.   
  
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M.  
Angel had been searching desperately for too long. He was going by scent alone which made it a long and arduous process for him despite his vampire powers, all the more so because of the overwhelming sense of panic that had taken over his senses. His eyes were yellow, piercing, and bloodshot, as he peered into the shadows, making his way towards the source of his fears.   
  
As he approached an overly darkened, abandoned alleyway, he quickly spotted the bloodied shoeprints leading away. He rounded the corner and immediately, the pungeant odour of blood that had been exposed to air far too long hit his senses. His eyes caught the bundle of white on the ground half hidden by shadows.   
  
And the stain of blood puddled around it.   
  
His ears rang with Cordelia's waning heartbeat.   
  
Racing towards her and dropping to the ground, he gently picked her body up and turned her to face him.   
  
"Angel..." Cordelia murmurred, as her eyes fell on the terrified look on his face.   
  
He took in the eyes that were almost empty and unseeing. The face that was paler than his could ever be. And the blood that poured out of the large wound in her chest, seeping through and soaking crimson the white fabric of her dress.   
  
She raised her hand towards him to touch his face but she didn't have the necessary strength to keep it in the air. He captured her flailing hand and held it in his, and to his lips. Clasping her against him, he began to rock her gently. Kissing her face and her hair, tears began to fall as his clothing rapidly turned the same shade as the front of hers.   
  
"You're going to make it" he said hollowly, holding his hand over her heart to plug the blood flow. "I'm not letting you leave me again." The blood flowed through his fingers anyway, as her heartbeats gradually slowed beneath his hand.   
  
As well as the ringing in his head.   
  
And the beating in his heart.   
  
Despite her dwindling strength, her lips moved, a tiny sound coming through. Only his vampire hearing was able to pick it up. "Whatever happens, don't go after him."   
  
"Who?" he asked desperately. "Why would I--." He stopped as his eyes fell on the glint of silver beside him. He reached over, still clutching her body to his, and picked it up.   
  
And immediately realized who had committed this brutal act.   
  
He let out another wail that night, this time to the moon and the stars. Everyone in Paris heard it, as did the Powers That Be, and the rest of the world. They all shivered, for it was the bay of a wolf in agony over its beloved chosen mate, a cry to the higher powers for giving him a son, and the bitter irony that he would end up losing both.   
  
Most of all, it was the desperate fight to understand why no matter how much he tried, none of them ever had a chance.   
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART V @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~  
Last update: July 2, 2002 


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